It's not prime, and it's not evenly divisible by an even number, so what's the problem? Oh, sure, all of the numbers DO appear in both the value of pi and the value of e, but so do a lot of others, like the square root of -1. Shucks, it's not even palindromic!

Unless...is your birthday either December 5, 1945 or January 25, 1945?

ALL numbers -- rational, irrational, imaginary, odd, even, dimensionless, dimensional, prime, real, complex, rational, integer, fractional, whole, natural, and those we wot not what of as yet -- are contained within both pi and e.

Doubt this at your peril, for the Pythagorians boys deal most harshly with Unbelievers.

Zygmund estimates!! HA!! Rapaire, NO-ONE listens to Zygmund estimates anymore. Not since the one about Y2K poisoning the water supply.

And, as I said, Pi are real. i, on the other hand, belongs to the order of imaginary numbers, so just fageddaboudit. If i were to show up in a pie, do you KNOW what would happen to all the circles in the world? Geometric cataclysm of the third order, is what!!

My point exactly! The Followers have put these formerly astute mathematicians in a place where, whether they are right or wrong, their work is discounted, tossed upon the rubbish midden of failed mathematics! And the Followers (which is the correct terms for the Pythagorian Boys) do this to everyone who they consider an Unbeliever!

Do you know what those guys are doing now? Do you??

Working out Fibonacci Numbers, that's what! For eternity! Like Sisyphus pushing the rock!

Dragging pi toward the midden values will avail nothing -- it is the blind thrashing of extremists, like declaring Evolution illegal and encoding the flatness of the planet into law. It serves nothing but as a testimony to ignorance.

Every time you draw a circle That is perfect to the eye If you measure you will find the key To all those radii It's a perfect puiece of beauty 3.1 to n on high And the wise men all will tell you, If you seek to answert "Why",

That's the maaagic The maaaagick of Pi!

You can try a small or frail one But this truth you can't escape Even just a nano-scaled one Or a giant cosmic crêpe As the egg becomes the circle Faster than the human eye,

Comes the magic The magic of Pi.

Bridge:

Though you try to dodge it Out-think or dislodge it It will out-do all your tricks. And no matter what the season, IF you take a circular reason, You'll end up with 3.1415926!

You can play with each parameter And modify diameters Until the pigs can fly You can argue about inference But somehow that circumference Will show you, 'til you die,

Numbers are fractal; and not an illusion, and you cannot legislate Pi. So we've been told and some choose to believe it I know they're wrong, wait and see. Someday we'll find it, the MOAB connection, Rapire, Amos, and me.

Find, find the value of pi, Starts 3 point 1 4 1 5 9. Good ol' boys gave it a try, But the decimal never dies, the decimal never dies......

In the Bible we do see the circle ratio appears as three, Or a little more.... That genius Archimedes found with polygons, an upper bound Of 22 sevenths for sure! The Chinese got it really keen: three-five-five over one thirteen! More joined the action with arctan series and continued fractions. In the 1700's, my oh my,the English coined the symbol π, Then Lambert showed it was a lie to look for rational pi.

He started singing ..........

Find, find the value of pi Twice 11 over 7 is a mighty fine try A good ol' fraction you might hope to supply, But the decimal never dies, the decimal never dies.

Late 1800's, Lindemann shared why a circle can't be squared But some folks tried anyway-- Like the Indiana doctor who said pi was 4 or 3.2 And thought his proof should be a law someday. The Indiana congressmen Discussed his paper there and then A bill got through the House by a vote unanimous! But in the end the statesmen sighed, "It's not for us to decide," So the bill was left to die Like the quest for rational pi.

They started singing ........

Find, find the value of pi Buffon's needle popped the bubble of that ol' doctor's try A good ol' fraction could not be supplied 'Cause the decimal never dies, the decimal never dies.

That doctor's pi in the sky dreams may not look so extreme 'Cause we long believed Deductive systems could be complete and there was one true geometry. But now there's more we see In these computer times, we test the best machines to find pi to a trillion places that so far lack pattern's traces. It's great when we can truly see math as human history-- That adds curiosity...... easy as pi!

Let's all try singing.....

Find, find the value of pi 3 point 1 4 1 5 9 2 6 5 3 5 8 9... A good ol' fraction you might hope to define But the decimal never dies, the decimal never dies.

"Statistician's BLUEs" words & music copyright 1994- 2001 Lawrence Mark Lesser (all rights reserved; reprinted with permission; may be sung as a standard 12-bar blues, with the words in parentheses more spoken than sung during the final 2 bars of each 12).

I've been mean-in' to tell ya 'bout my last co-relation, I've been median to tell ya 'bout my last co-relation: She wasn't from Haiti, but she was variation! (unexplained and uncontrolled!)

I saw her with ANOVA man, and they were not discrete, I saw her with ANOVA man, and they were not discrete-- I went proba-ballistic and let out a Pearson scream! (those deviates! What a moment!)

She was my significant other -- significant at point-oh-three, She was my significant other -- significant at point-oh-three, But alpha get her soon -- as sample as can be! (That'll Fisher! Time serious!)

Whoe'er would search the starry sky, Its secrets to divine, sir, Should take his glass-I mean, should try A glass or two of wine, sir! True virtue lies in golden mean, And man must wet his clay, sir; Join these two maxims, and 'tis seen He should drink his bottle a day, sir!

Old Archimedes, reverend sage! By trump of fame renowned, sir, Deep problems solved in every page, And the sphere's curved surface found, sir: Himself he would have far outshone, And borne a wider sway, sir, Had he our modern secret known, And drank a bottle a day, sir!

When Ptolemy, now long ago, Believed the Earth stood still, sir, He never would have blundered so, Had he but drunk his fill, sir: He'd then have felt it circulate, And would have learnt to say, sir, The true way to investigate Is to drink your bottle a day, sir!

Copernicus, that learned wight, The glory of his nation, With draughts of wine refreshed his sight, And saw the Earth's rotation Each planet then its orb described, The Moon got under way, sir; These truths from nature he imbibed For he drank his bottle a day, sir!

The noble Tycho placed the stars, Each in its due location; He lost his nose by spite of Mars, But that was no privation: Had he but lost his mouth, I grant He would have felt dismay, sir, Bless you! he knew what he should want To drink his bottle a day, sir!

Cold water makes no lucky hits; On mysteries the head runs: Small drink let Kepler time his wits On the regular polyhedrons: He took to wine, and it changed the chime, His genius swept away, sir, Through area varying as the time At the rate of a bottle a day, sir!

Poor Galileo, forced to rat Before the Inquisition, E pur si muove was the pat He gave them in addition: He meant, whate'er you think you prove, The Earth must go its way, sirs; Spite of your teeth I'll make it move, For I'll drink my bottle a day, sirs!

Great Newton, who was never beat Whatever fools may think, sir; Though sometimes he forgot to eat, He never forgot to drink, sir: Descartes took nought but lemonade, To conquer him was play, sir; The first advance that Newton made Was to drink his bottle a day, sir!

D'Alembert, Euler, and Clairaut, Though they increased our store, sir, Much further had been seen to go Had they tippled a little more, sir! Lagrange gets mellow with Laplace, And both are wont to say, sir, The philosophe who's not an ass Will drink his bottle a day, sir!

Astronomers! what can avail Those who calumniate us; Experiment can never fail With such an apparatus; Let him who'd have his merits known Remember what I say, sir; Fair science shines on him alone Who drinks his bottle a day, sir!

How light we reck of those who mock By this we'll make to appear, sir, We'll dine by the sidereal clock For one more bottle a year, sir: But choose which pendulum you will, You'll never make your way, sir, Unless you drink--and drink your fill, At least a bottle a day, sir!

Now we like to celebrate our BSing abilities and this long and wunnerful collection of pure BS we have generated.

But Hugh the Banjoest has sent me a link that makes me realize we have to honor the masters who came before -- those who cured everything with their 40% Alcohol Microbe Killer Medicines, Swamp-Root, Pepso-Lax and a hundred other wonderful Elixirs, the Masters of the Medicine Show.

It's a Real One PLayer file called "Free Show Tonight" and it will make you laugh, and tap your feet, too.

I got them long, laxing energizing lunkers deep inside "o mecan't really say if it's good or just like choc-o-let-pudd-ing.Raised up on corn bread with jam made from the berr-ah-er-aer-a-ryJust still can't relate myself to me:::::::::::::Ya-ya-ya-ya-hhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!Eating some cel-er-y-Ya ya ya ya ehaw:::::::

Rustic Rebel loves to pome, Pomes all day when she's tuh home! But when she's out upon the range, Something makes her pomes go strange! Locoweed, from up the hill, Celery, or maybe dill, Some damn vegetable or uvver, But strange or not, usn's still luvver.

I figured it out, Amos. The needle was stuck. I whacked it with a hammer a couple of times to unstick the needle and now it points up, sort of. But ever since last night when I did that I have this almost uncontrollable urge to enter politics....

Well, I took my moral compass out the shootin' range today. I got out the Old Girl and loaded her up. Then I took my best sitting, supported, position and proceeded to shoot ten rounds at a target 100 yards away.

I didn't do real well. In fact, I only got four "in the black." That's not good shootin'.

So, I stood up, reloaded, and started shooting at various plastic bottles others had left there (being a good member of the shooting club, I cleaned all of it up when I finished -- really). On the first shot I flung a bottle clear over the the 20 foot high backstop. And with fifteen more shots I cleared fifteen pieces of junk from the target area.

This was done standing, open (non-telescopic) sights, 100 yards, 180-grain Remington Core-Lokt 30-06 ammo, using a rifle that was manufactured (dated by both markings and serial number) by Winchester in May, 1918.

On the other hand, I left the assembly line in early 1945 and I'm feeling every second since then. Something about the fresh air and the outdoors brings out the wimp in me.

I dreamed I sat on Shatner's hat On Shatner's hat is where I sat I don't know where Shat's hat was at Just that Shat's hat was where I sat And when I sat, Shat's hat went "Splat!" And then his hat was very flat Yes, flatter than a cricket bat And flatter than a welcome mat There's never been a flatter hat Than Shatner's hat, on which I sat

A slattern's heat, a slitted sheet And sitting on a Shatner hat Are kindred dreams, of shit and heat, And hollow dreams for he who sits, A haunted, tattered, sailor cat, Dreaming of shitty Shatner fat, And of his sadly flattened hat.

A lazy lug With ugly mug Squat as a pug Wearing a plug-ugly rug Would you be bugged? I think, said Doug, I'd hit the jug Or yell "Go fugg!" At such a lug! If such a mug Should try to hug, I would be bugged, I would, said Doug I'd swing and slug His ugly mug.

Well, all the gravelly stones are shaken, raked, sieved and barrowed away from the front yard and we are examining where the wall should go. Several ideas are forthcoming. My goodness, yes. Why, with a few thousand dollars we will have just a dreamy wall, indeed.

So I am running various spreadsheets of measurements to see where the price point will finally lie. But I can tell you know it will be lovely.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbor know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: "Stay where you are until our backs are turned!" We wear our fingers rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of outdoor game, One on a side. It comes to little more: He is all pine and I am apple-orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors." Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder If I could put a notion in his head: "Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offence. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down!" I could say "Elves" to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. ...